


in weakness and in strength

by colorsofmyseason



Series: a thousand senses [5]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, German National Team, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24144982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorsofmyseason/pseuds/colorsofmyseason
Summary: Three things Bernd learns after he starts dating a vampire, and one reason why he puts up with it anyway.
Relationships: Bernd Leno/Marc-André ter Stegen
Series: a thousand senses [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718806
Comments: 14
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because I love Steno and I can't seem to get them out of my head, thus this story was born.
> 
> This meant to be 5+1 story at first, but I got stuck, so I had to be content with 3+1.
> 
> Still set in the same universe as [passing the limits of your senses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23852428/chapters/57326377).
> 
> Set during 2018-2019 season, after World Cup and when Bernd just transferred to Arsenal.
> 
> Featuring: vampire!Marc and light elemental!Bernd.
> 
> Warning: English is not my mother tongue so forgive me for any mistakes.

From the first day he started dating Marc-André ter Stegen (though the two of them can never point out the _exact_ first day, considering how twisted and convoluted the beginning of their relationship was), Bernd has known that his life will be anything but ordinary.

Alright, probably his life isn’t that ordinary to begin with. He’s a super after all, a light elemental to be precise, and despite not using his ability that much, and keeping it a secret from his new Arsenal teammates, still there _are_ certain things in his life that normal people won’t commonly experience, Bernd is sure. However, being in a relationship with a vampire just seems to add a few more oddities to the mix.

And since Bernd _does_ love Marc-André, despite of everything that has happened between them, he accepts Marc-André just the way he is, Bernd really does. However, that doesn’t mean there haven’t been any mishaps occurring all the way as he gets to know the younger better as a fellow super and lover, not simply a rival goalkeeper.

And those mishaps sure make good stories, as Bernd and Marc-André could tell you…

-

**_1\. He drinks blood._ **

****

Okay, among everything, this one is probably the most obvious. After all, Marc-André is a vampire, and blood is a vital part of his diet, if not the _only_ thing he actually needs in his diet. And since there have been vampires both in Leverkusen and national team (he has yet to find one in Arsenal), Bernd thinks that he’s fine with that fact. Now that he’s known where to look, he’s noticed blood bags stored in the fridge in the infirmary, Stefan receiving special “protein shakes” from the trainers back then, Thomas sulking all the time whenever his personal feeder (read: Manuel Neuer) can’t play for the national team because of injury. And Bernd isn’t going to complain or think it’s repulsive if Marc-André decides to drink blood right in front of him, no he really isn’t.

(Not to mention that Marc-André drinks from him directly all the time every international break, and he secretly thinks it’s hot, and the sex afterwards is always awesome, but he’s never going to admit that to Marc-André.)

He doesn’t know that Marc-André _still_ drinks from his other teammates.

“You did _what???_ ” Bernd nearly chokes on his water when Marc-André mentions in passing comment that he thinks Rafinha’s blood tastes best after Bernd’s.

Marc-André stares at him, certainly surprised at Bernd’s reaction. “I said Rafinha tastes good, not as delicious as you, of course, but he may come second,” he states casually. “What is it, Bernd??”

“You…you…” Bernd splutters, trying to find proper words to describe his feelings right now, but failing miserably and finally having to be content with a lame whisper, “You still drink from the others? Aside from me, I mean??”

“…Uh, yes…?” Marc-André replies, confusion on his face. “Why? I thought you know?? I’ve told you that I’ve drunk from everyone from the national team. You don’t think that I don’t need to feed at all when I’m in Barcelona, do you? Because…”

“I get it, thanks. No need to go for the details,” Bernd rolls his eyes. “I just think that…well, since this is the 21st century and all…you’d go for a more _modern_ way of feeding, if you know what I mean.”

Marc-André makes a face. “I hate the taste of packed blood, and synth blood is even worse,” he says, mouth twisted as if remembering the bad taste in it. “I have to drink those stuffs in the end, of course, there’s no other way, but in times I still yearn for fresh human blood, and Rafinha is usually the most willing of them all. And yes, since it hasn’t seemed to be getting to you since last time, I’ve drunk from almost everyone at Barcelona as well at least once. And don’t give me that look. I’ll have you know that Leo agrees with me and…”

“…Wait, _what???_ Who are you talking about?”

“Leo? Lionel Messi? He’s a vampire too, you know.”

Well, that’s certainly one useful information, and Bernd isn’t even being sarcastic.

“I didn’t know that Lionel Messi is a vampire. After all, not everyone has the privilege of playing in the same team as the best footballer in the world.”

Now it’s Marc-André’s turn to roll his eyes. “Well, all rules and restrictions aside, I don’t think you can win five Ballon d’Ors without being some kind of supers, in one way or another.”

Bernd bites back a comment, “Well, I don’t see that _you_ being a vampire has earned you some FIFA Best Goalkeeper award or something”. It’s certainly something that his younger self would say towards his compatriot, and something that would lead them into fighting again, but right now he’s older, wiser, and especially Marc-André ter Stegen’s lover. It won’t do for them to fight about such things anymore, and he has more important matters in hand, anyway.

“Well,” Bernd inhales, trying to find some words that would be sufficient to convey his feelings, yet not going to hurt his boyfriend (not that much, at least), “that’s good for you. I guess. I mean I’ve heard Thomas saying that fresh human blood is always better than whatever stuff they put in plastic bags, so I can understand how you feel about this. Kind of.”

Marc-André stares at Bernd as if he’s going crazy.

“I said kind of, because obviously, I’m not a vampire, you see? So this blood-drinking thing is not something that I encounter in daily basis. But since I’m your boyfriend first and your blood supplier during international breaks second, I guess I can have a say in this matter, no?? And well, you’re not the only vampire in the national team, Thomas is one as well. And now Thomas drinks from Manuel only, as far as I know. Of course their situation is different, since they play for the same club as well as the national team, but…”

“Bernd,” Marc-André cuts him off, a mixture of wonder and amusement in his voice, “are you _jealous??_ ”

“I’m not!” Bernd snaps back, albeit a bit too quickly, and the Arsenal keeper curses internally as he feels his cheeks heating up. “It’s just…well, I don’t think it’s _right_ , you still drinking from the others while you have me, though we don’t meet each other as often as we want to and…”

Marc-André bursts into laughter, long and loud and warm, and Bernd doesn’t know whether to punch his boyfriend on the face or hug him because _damn_ , the Barcelona keeper does look so handsome when he’s laughing like that. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t find that laugh _alluring_ , despite of how obnoxious it might sound in his ears.

“Oh, Bernd,” Marc-André gasps out when he’s finally able to catch his breath. “You’re…well, you’re _amazing_ , you know that?? And to think that a few years ago we used to give each other a black eye and everything, for us to progress to this point…”

“Shut up,” Bernd mutters, glaring at Marc-André from the corners of his eyes. “I can still give you the black eye you so desperately need, if you ask for it.”

“Sure, sure,” the slightly younger goalkeeper laughs again. “It’s just…really, I had no idea you feel that way, you know.” He sobers up a bit. “Or rather, probably I never ask you about it either before. Since I’m so used to drinking my teammates’ blood, I never think that you’d find problems with it.”

Swallowing, Bernd looks downside and stares at his own fingers. He shouldn’t have mentioned it at first place.

“Bernd,” Marc-André speaks again, voice lower this time, and does Bernd just detect a slight apologetic tone in there?? “I’m sorry.”

One moment pass. Maybe two. Then Bernd blinks. And blinks. And blinks again. And then breathes out when he’s finally able to find his voice again, “You’re sorry.”

“Yes.”

“For what, exactly?”

“Well, not for drinking from my teammates, that’s for sure,” Marc-André admits, and for some reasons that barely surprises Bernd at all. “But I’m sorry for making you jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Bernd mumbles, though they both know it’s a lie. For starters, the telltale blush is still every bit as prominent on his cheeks as before.

“I know that you feel, how I can say this, _possessive_ towards me,” Marc-André whispers, staring at his own fingers as well. “And I really understand that you wish to be the only one to feed me, as Manu is for Thomas. However, you can’t…you can’t _generalize_ things like that, you know?? Every vampire has different taste, and different nutritional needs. We can play for the same club and I may still end up drinking from the others as well.”

_As if I can stand playing second fiddle to you for the rest of my career_ , Bernd wants to say, but doesn’t. Mostly because he doesn’t want to feed his boyfriend’s ego by implying that Marc-André is a better keeper than him, and Bernd certainly does _not_ think that way, however, awards and Germany caps tend to speak for themselves. But he just keeps silent and lets Marc-André continue talking.

“Every time I drink from someone else…I just view them as…as a _blood supplier_ , like you said previously, you see? I just need to drink their blood, nothing more, nothing less. I’ve never been turned on by them, and they’re not turned on by me as well. Hopefully.”

“Well, that certainly sounds reassuring,” Bernd mutters before he can help himself.

If Marc-André detects the sarcasm inside Bernd’s voice, he doesn’t mention it. Instead the younger keeper only sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know whether this can make things better,” he states, hesitating for awhile before slowly continuing, “but among every single kind of blood I’ve ever drunk, I always enjoy yours the most, though.”

It’s not really a confession, since Bernd already knows about that, but for some reasons he feels oddly comforted. Probably because Marc-André implies that he thinks _Bernd_ is the best, even after meeting some of the best footballers in the world on daily basis, and that doesn’t only apply towards the blood thing. Or maybe it’s something else entirely, he doesn’t know. But he feels something heavy lifted off his chest, and the burning jealousy he felt earlier has dimmed considerably.

“I know that,” Bernd replies, and he’s glad to find that his own voice has returned to normal. “Sunshine and light and all, am I right?”

That does seem to break the ice between them, because the next thing he knows, Marc-André is already on top of him, the younger keeper’s blue eyes gleaming as he whispers seductively, “Well, what if I show you how much _sunshine and light_ you actually are, hmm??”

Bernd feels a shiver running down his back, though in a pleasant way – damn, isn’t it Mats who’s supposed to possess the power of seduction?? – and as he looks at Marc-André’s eyes, he gives a rather short, yet firm nod.

And of course, what follows afterwards is one of the best sex Bernd’s ever had in ages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that concludes the first chapter, with three more to go.
> 
> Stefan is Stefan Kießling, Leverkusen's now retired forward. I don't know anything about him, I just kinda picked him up randomly as the vampire in Leverkusen, haha.
> 
> And I imagine that despite of being in a relationship right now, both Bernd and Marc-André actually still keep slight grudges towards each other, only now they're wise enough not to act according to it.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter. Kudos, comments and constructive criticisms are appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was a bit doubtful regarding this one because I couldn't decide whether it suited the verse. And I didn't want to give Marc too many "typical" vampire characteristics at first. But as I started thinking about this story, I decided that this one trait could provide a good storyline, therefore I went along with it. 
> 
> It ended up a bit fluffier than I meant it to be, but I've wanted to write some domestic Steno for awhile anyhow so bear with me? XD
> 
> And oh, I have nothing against Arsenal. In fact they're one of my favorite football teams. But their defence line...well, Bernd Leno must've been a total saint for not breaking down each time he plays with them.
> 
> Warning: English is not my mother tongue.

**_2\. He can’t enter a house without permission._ **

When Bernd has just transferred to Arsenal, he’s given Marc-André a spare key to his new apartment in London shortly the second they got to meet each other.

“Come visit me,” Bernd has said. It’s not a request, it’s a command.

What Bernd doesn’t know is that, while he’s aware about that part regarding vampires not being able to enter a house without invitation, there are certain words that actually _count_ as a permission. And simply giving Marc-André the key and the order to visit him won’t do. And Bernd doesn’t know whether Marc-André is too polite to mention it to him or simply has forgotten to tell him that he needs to say the specific magic words (he suspects the latter, though), but when one day he goes home from training and finds Marc-André in front of his apartment, looking slightly dishevelled and dusty, he immediately knows that something’s wrong.

“Why are you standing here? Why didn’t you just get in? You have the key.”

Marc-André rolls his eyes. “Hello to you too, love. The flight’s great, the food, not so much. The traffic from Heathrow to here is shit, though. I didn’t tell you I’m coming because I wanted it to be a surprise. And yes, I miss you so much, thanks for asking.”

Bernd decides to ignore his boyfriend’s words for now and goes to unlock the door himself. As he steps inside his apartment, he notices Marc-André still standing outside, not making any moves to walk in.

“Why are you not coming in?”

Marc-André lets out a cough, and Bernd thinks he hears a slight embarrassment in his boyfriend’s voice when he speaks out, “I can’t get in. You would have to invite me.”

Bernd stares at him. And stares some more. Then he chokes out, “ _What??_ ”

“I’m a vampire, okay??” Marc-André snaps, colouring furiously. “I can’t enter a private house without permission, blah blah blah. No matter whether it’s my own boyfriend’s apartment or something. Now, are you going to let me in or not??”

“…But I gave you the key. And told you to come visit me.”

“Well, certainly because of some freaky supernatural shit that I myself don’t understand, that isn’t enough,” Marc-André sighs. “You really _do_ have to invite me. With words. Unless you want me to keep staying outside and soaking in the rain, well, that’s entirely your choice, I guess.”

Bernd can’t help a slight chuckle escaping his lips. “So that’s why you didn’t get in right away?”

Marc-André throws his hands in the air in exasperation. “How many times should I tell you that?? I unlocked the key, but the moment I tried to step in, your house just threw me out! I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer, and…”

“Yeah, sorry, I put my phone on silent mode during training, and I guess I forgot to activate the sound back on,” Bernd explains rather sheepishly. “And now, Prince Charming, you have my permission to enter my humble palace.”

Marc-André rolls his eyes again at Bernd’s words but nevertheless smiles, and tentatively makes a step inside. Heaving a deep breath in relief as the apartment doesn’t reject him anymore, he approaches his boyfriend and immediately melts into his embrace.

It feels so good to be together again. It feels so good to be inside each other’s arms again. And it certainly feels so good to know how much they actually miss each other and is glad to find each other alive and well.

(Okay, the last part might be a bit too much, but still, as a super, you never know.)

“I do miss you so much, you know,” Marc-André murmurs inside Bernd’s chest.

“Likewise,” Bernd replies, his breath tickling Marc-André’s hair. “But how did you get here?? I mean, don’t you have training?”

“Got two free days, thankfully, don’t ask me how. But when the boss announced it, I immediately thought of you and booked a plane ticket right away. I had wanted to surprise you and maybe cook you some lunch but…”

“But I haven’t invited you properly. Got it,” Bernd says with a smile. “I’m sorry about that as well. I didn’t realize that simply giving you the key doesn’t count as a permission.”

“Yeah, they should’ve revised the rule or something. Though I have to say, I don’t know how it could happen at first place. I mean, who decided that vampires shouldn’t be allowed to enter a private house without permission? And what for? That’s crazy.”

Bernd shrugs. “I don’t know, ask God? And well, that’s for our own protection too, I guess? I mean, no offense, but I wouldn’t want to wake up in the night with a vampire sinking his teeth into my flesh or something.”

“Even if the vampire is an _extremely_ hot and irresistible one like me??” Marc-André asks with a cheeky grin, showing the slightest bit of his fangs, and Bernd shoves him away.

“Dream on, ter Stegen.”

They end up cooking lunch together, and if Bernd notices Marc-André not-so-subtly removing all the garlic from the kitchen, he doesn’t say anything (according to Marc-André, garlic doesn’t kill him, but it’s still much better not to have any in his food).

This scene is comfortably domestic, Bernd thinks. Just him and Marc-André, sitting on opposite sides of Bernd’s table, enjoying a warm homemade meal, as if they’re just two boyfriends spending a perfectly normal day together, not two footballers from different clubs who also happen to be a vampire and a light elemental. He briefly thinks that he won’t mind having this kind of scene more often, but quickly shoves that thought aside. He knows it’s hard for them to make time for each other to begin with, and it’s better for him to enjoy what he has right now instead of expecting for more.

And they talk a lot. They discuss everything from football to their respective families, and Marc-André complains on how hot it’s been getting in Barcelona nowadays (again, sun doesn’t kill him, but too much brightness tends to cause him some discomfort), while Bernd suggests rather slyly that he should make a transfer to London if he wants less sunlight.

(“It’s just rather unfair, don’t you think?? You’re a light elemental, you love to be under the sun, and I can’t stand it for too long. Yet you play in London and I’m stuck in Barcelona.”

“You made it sound like it’s a bad thing. Stuck in Barcelona, I mean. If you hate it that much, I don’t mind swapping clubs with you one day.”

“…No, thanks, I’m good. Especially…well, no offense, I’m sure your club is _perfectly_ capable of holding their own in…certain situations, but with the comedy show you call defence in front of you…”

“Ha, so you’re afraid that your oh-so-perfect track records is going to be ruined if you play for Arsenal? You’re a coward, Marc-André ter Stegen.”

“I’m not, I’m just being realistic. But I guess that’s what you actually _like_ to do? Putting your life on the line to save the balls, I mean. You did it at Leverkusen, and now you do it too at Arsenal. It’s almost a miracle you’re still as handsome as ever considering how many hits you’ve taken on your face.”

“……Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”)

They climb together onto Bernd’s bed that evening, and Bernd doesn’t even flinch when Marc-André drops his fangs on Bernd’s neck without warning and begins drinking. He briefly wonders how even this can feel so normal for him, but he supposes that it’s part of his life now, having a vampire as his boyfriend. He simply takes Marc-André into his embrace, strokes the younger’s hair gently and waits until Marc-André pulls himself away and closes the puncture wound, letting out a sigh of contentment.

“That feels good,” Marc-André murmurs against Bernd’s neck.

“My blood, or simply being with me?” Bernd asks half-teasingly.

This earns him a shove from his boyfriend. “Oh shut it, Bernd Leno, I’m too horny right now to answer that question, if you want to know.”

Bernd only chuckles and positions himself to face his boyfriend, and the rest of the night is drowned by the love they make for each other.

-

“Marc?”

“Hmm?”

Bernd’s smile is exceedingly bright as he looks into Marc-André’s eyes and speaks in a slightly affected voice, “I hereby give you permission to visit my family home in Bietigheim-Bissingen, no hindrance, no constraints, anytime you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's the end of the second chapter.
> 
> Yes, Marc can eat human food just fine, only it won't give him the nutrition he needs, he mostly eats just because he likes it, and also it makes him feel more normal.
> 
> Kudos, comments, and constructive criticisms are appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was born because I was thinking, "I kept writing about Bernd being a light elemental but never actually describing his power" and "Do vampires have weaknesses other than garlic??" so I did a little research and voila! I hope I didn't mess things up though.
> 
> Bernd's family are included here. Viktor and Rosa Leno are his parents, while Daniel and Viktoria Leno are his brother and sister-in-law.
> 
> Warning: English is not my mother tongue so forgive me for any mistakes. Hope you still enjoy it though!

**_3\. Certain herbs and plants can make him sick._ **

****

“This is pathetic,” Marc-André moans as he lies motionlessly on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, eyes closed and a hot towel pressed on his forehead.

“Well, it could be worse…?” Bernd tries, rather vainly, to lighten the situation. “I mean, you could’ve ended up vomiting all day like that one time you accidentally had garlic in your food?”

Marc-André opens his eyes and gives his boyfriend a death glare, or at least the best glare he can muster with his head not even able to turn properly. “Bernd Leno, one more lame attempt like that and I’m breaking up with you.”

“Sorry,” Bernd mutters, and he genuinely means it, and he also knows Marc-Andre knows he means it. However, he understands that it does little to ease his boyfriend’s suffering right now.

They’re currently at Bietigheim-Bissingen, Bernd’s parents’ house to be precise. After months of persuading Marc-André to come with him there, assuring the younger keeper that Bernd won’t get disowned by his family only because he’s dating a vampire, and even introducing Marc-André first to an extremely amused Daniel Leno to make him more comfortable, Bernd finally managed to get his boyfriend to come along with him to visit his parents during a break.

And Marc-André thought he had every reason to worry about that. Bernd’s parents, as awesome as they should be for managing to raise two superpowered children successfully, are still perfectly normal humans to begin with, and though they’re pretty much aware about supernatural stuffs by now, finding your son dating a vampire, a _male_ vampire to boot, might still be a bit much. And Marc-André certainly didn't wish for Bernd to end up disobeying his family in the end or something, thank you very much.

But things went well at the start. Almost too well. Upon Bernd and Marc-André's arrival at Bietigheim-Bissingen, Rosa Leno had greeted them with a big smile and a hug each, and even remembered to give permission for Marc-André to enter the house (which touched Marc-André so much that he decided not to tell her that he'd been invited by Bernd previously, therefore the permission from her wasn’t needed). Viktor Leno wasn't as expressive as his wife, but he stated how he’s glad to meet Marc-André and that Bernd had told them many things about the younger keeper.

Things were still looking flawless afterwards, Marc-André slotting quite nicely into Bernd's family as they had a chat, and though Bernd's niece and nephew were a bit too curious about his life as a vampire, Marc-André was starting to relax and even giving them a slight hint about him drinking from Bernd which earned him a suppressed laughter from his boyfriend and slightly disapproving looks from Daniel and Viktoria.

And then Rosa called them up for lunch.

Bernd had told his mother that Marc-André couldn’t eat garlic, and Rosa had been really careful about that, even throwing away all the garlic in the kitchen and disinfecting all her kitchen equipment and surfaces properly. However, they didn't take into account that there are other kinds of plants and herbs that could harm vampires, albeit less likely.

So when they sat around the table and Marc-André took one mouthful of Rosa's cooking, he had opened his mouth to praise it when suddenly he felt something on his tongue and inadvertently let out a loud gasp. He tried to spit it out, but it was too late, and the food slid effortlessly into his stomach.

“Dear? What is it?? Is there something wrong with my cooking??” Rosa asked concernedly.

(Later Bernd would tell him that Rosa had determined to make this event extra special for Marc-André, wishing to show him that he's accepted in the family no matter what, and had enslaved herself in the kitchen for _days_ , and Marc-André promised himself to send that woman some flowers for her birthday.)

“No, no, your cooking is really nice, but…” Marc-André gulped, trying to fight the dizziness that suddenly swarmed his head, “did you…did you by any chance use lemon _and_ juniper in your cooking…?”

“…Uh, yes…?” Rosa replied hesitantly, horror flashing through her face. “Especially the meat, it's marinated with juniper and…”

Marc-André couldn't hear what she said anymore, he just managed to mutter, “Shit,” before his vision went black.

-

Bernd sighs as he places another hot towel on his boyfriend’s forehead. Being a vampire, Marc-André’s skin has never been that warm, but now he’s completely ice-cold, and he has yet to regain movements of his body though he’s been conscious for awhile now. And judging from the slight grimace he makes every now and then, Bernd suspects that he must’ve felt some pain too somewhere.

Really, who could’ve guessed that, after making all those precautions regarding garlic, every single one of them just got thrown out of the window because, as it turns out, Marc-André is also highly sensitive towards _juniper??_ And consuming it, while not technically fatal, can render him paralyzed for a few hours? And while it’s not something that usually affects vampires that much, the presence of _lemon_ , in conjunction to the juniper, just adds on Marc-André’s misery.

Marc-André has assured Bernd that it’s alright, he’s not in the wrong and that Marc-André should’ve warned him previously, and the Barcelona keeper even has stopped Rosa from apologizing repeatedly, but Bernd still feels that he’s at fault, somehow. After all, it’s him who has invited Marc-André to his family house, has planned all of this, so he should’ve been more proactive in asking his boyfriend about those things Marc-André could’ve been averse to, or maybe finding it out himself. And now what’s supposed to be a quiet, nice afternoon out in his family house turns to be a nightmare.

A small whimper from Marc-André snaps Bernd out of his reverie, and he quickly looks at his boyfriend again. “What is it?? Does it hurt somewhere?”

“Not in a specific place,” Marc-André replies, eyes dropping shut again. “It keeps moving. Sometimes it’s on my legs, sometimes it’s on my head, but this time it’s on my arm.”

“…Probably some painkiller could h-“

“Painkillers don’t work well on vampires, as I’m sure you’ve known yourself. Only the strong ones can be used on me. Besides, I’m not sure this kind of pain can be eased by it.”

“Have you ever experienced something like this before?”

“Yeah, when I was a kid. Jean-Marcel, my brother, dared me to eat some juniper. I got paralyzed for five hours. And let’s say my mom wasn’t too happy about that.”

A slight smile makes its way to Bernd’s face, though he quickly sobers up. Probably later Marc-André can tell him the details about that particular incident and they can laugh at it together, but now’s not the right time for that. And looking at his boyfriend’s current state, Bernd can’t help feeling that he should take responsibility for this, no matter how many times Marc-André has said that he’s not at fault.

So, making up his mind, he takes a deep breath and says, “I have something that probably can help you.”

Marc-André makes no response to that.

“I would have to turn the lights on to make this easier th-“

“Noooooo,” Marc-André groans, weak but resolute. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can handle too much brightness right now. It will only hurt me even more.”

For a few seconds, there’s only silence. Then Marc-André hears a soft sigh escaping Bernd’s lips before the Arsenal keeper says eventually, “Fine, I’ll do this the _other_ way. Hopefully it’s not that bright for you.”

Marc-André cracks his eyes open a bit to see what Bernd meant by that, and what he sees would’ve snapped him into sitting up on the bed in surprise if only he could move.

For he catches something on the other side of the room, slightly crouching in front of a low wardrobe there, gleaming softly in a pale yellow colour, but not too bright to look at. As Marc-André strains his eyes to look at it clearer, he’s struck with realization that it’s not simply “something” – it’s Bernd.

Bernd. His boyfriend. His own boyfriend is _glowing_ , quite literally.

For a few seconds Marc-André can only stare at him, barely able to take a breath. Of course he knows Bernd can do this – the older keeper is a light elemental, after all, but he’s never been a show-off type, and never uses his ability unless absolutely necessary. Even during international breaks, whenever some players start fooling around a bit using their respective powers when there’s no other people around, the amount of times Bernd can be found joining the commotion can be counted on one hand. Marc-André also knows that Bernd’s incredible control over his own power has granted himself special permission not to wear restriction bracelet during matches.

But now Bernd’s here, his power in full view, as light generates from every inch of his body, even his blue eyes now look like a pair of melted gold. And Marc-André honestly has never seen something more beautiful.

As Bernd walks back towards him, carrying something on his hand, Marc-André can see his light dimming slightly, as if he’s adjusting it so as not to hurt Marc-André’s eyes. “Sorry about this,” he says casually, taking a seat next to the bed like before. “I need a bit of light to do this properly, and since the normal ones might be too bright for you…”

Marc-André is about to ask what Bernd means by that when he realizes what the Arsenal keeper has on his hand.

A big syringe, a tourniquet, a small bottle of alcohol and a wad of cotton swab.

“Bernd,” Marc-André says, eyes wide, “you…you’re not going to…?”

Bernd doesn’t bother himself with an answer. Instead, he places the tourniquet on his upper left arm, tightening it as his hand makes a fist. Even from his place and state right now, Marc-André can see Bernd’s veins under his arm, glowing slightly brighter than the rest of his body that they look like rivers of light on his skin.

“You don’t have to see if you can’t stand it,” Bernd warns his boyfriend.

He doesn’t want to see, but he can’t get his eyes off Bernd as the slightly older keeper rubs an area on his own elbow pit with alcohol, cleaning it. Then, taking a deep breath, Bernd thrusts the needle into his own arm, drawing some blood out of it.

Something in the back of Marc-André’s throat immediately burns at the sight of Bernd’s blood – damn it, he just fed right before he went to Bernd’s parents’ house, he should’ve been able to hold out for two weeks or so! If only he’s not paralyzed right now, Marc-André’s sure he would’ve jumped towards Bernd and drunk from him immediately. But now he can only watch as Bernd slowly clicks open the tourniquet on his upper arm, removes the syringe, detaches the needle, and then finally – _finally!!_ – squirts out the blood inside the syringe into Marc-André’s mouth.

The first drop of blood falling on his tongue feels like a gulp of cold water after a long day of training under Barcelona sun. Marc-André swallows it, eyes closed in pleasure as he marvels on the taste of his boyfriend’s blood – rich and syrupy, sweet with a good amount of spice thrown in it but somehow those flavours are mixed perfectly, and so smooth and warm it practically just flows down his throat. And to his surprise, he feels his pain dissipating and his previously rigid muscles starting to relax. He’s not yet able to move still, but overall he feels much better now.

“More?” Bernd asks.

Marc-André makes a jerky movement with his head that’s supposed to be a nod, since he doesn’t really trust himself to speak right now.

Bernd draws out his blood again, this time faster than the first, probably because he’s more used to doing that now. Marc-André swallows it again, as rich and sweet as before, and as he licks his teeth for the remaining of the blood, he’s delighted to find that he can move his fingers and toes, and his back muscles are losing its stiffness, which means he’s probably able to prop himself up now.

“Do you want to try sitting on the bed?” Bernd asks again, probably noticing the slight change in Marc-André’s position.

“Yes, please.”

Bernd piles up some pillows on the bed and then gently helps Marc-André to sit up straight. Marc-André leans his back to the pillows, glad that his muscles have recovered enough to support his own weight now. Looking around to smile at his boyfriend, he finds Bernd dabbing his own elbow pit with the cotton swab to stop the bleeding, and Marc-André’s smile slips slightly as he remembers what Bernd has just done for him.

“Since when you’re able to do that? And how??”

Bernd doesn’t respond right away. Instead he just dabs at his own elbow pit again, making sure there’s no more blood trickling out of it before slowly replying, “I asked Dr. Müller-Wohlfahrt to teach me how to do that.”

“ _What???_ ”

“Yeah, well, I figured that it would be a good skill to be put into use,” Bernd explains, avoiding his boyfriend’s eyes. “Since there might be…emergencies, in which you may not be able to drink directly from me…and as you can see, it’s indeed helpful in times like this, so…”

“Bernd,” Marc-André interrupts, as it slowly dawns on him what the Arsenal keeper has been doing all this time, “you…you learned to do this for _me??_ ”

This time Bernd doesn’t answer, but his cheeks seem to burn brighter, which may be the equivalent of blushing in his current state. And it's enough for an answer.

Marc-André slowly reaches out and clasps his fingers around Bernd’s, intertwining them together. He wants to hug Bernd right away, but he has yet to regain his full movement, and he hopes this little gesture is enough to show Bernd how he feels right now. As their fingers come in contact with each other, Marc-André thinks that Bernd’s body gives off more heat than usual, which may be caused by him utilizing his power, or maybe Marc-André’s own skin is just too cold right now.

“Bernd,” Marc-André whispers, staring right into his boyfriend’s now golden orbs, “I love you. I love you. So fucking much.”

They don’t often express their affection in words, Marc-André knows, though both are perfectly aware about their feelings for each other. Their relationship has always been based more on Marc-André’s need for Bernd’s blood, hot sex, rare meetings and loads of phone calls, interspersed with their still-present-but-thoroughly-mellowed rivalry for a spot on the starting eleven in the national team and occasional glares whenever they do their training drills together. But it’s the first time Marc-André truly understands how much Bernd actually loves him and is willing to do anything for his happiness and health if needed be.

(Though probably their places in national team will always be a sore spot for them, that’s another story altogether, and Marc-André is sure they can work through it.)

“I love you too,” Bernd breathes, voice soft but firm, and Marc-André isn’t surprised when the slightly older keeper leans forward to close the distance between their lips in a kiss.

It’s rather ironic, Marc-André thinks as his fingers slowly runs over Bernd’s still shimmering skin during their kiss, how two people that’s so different from each other like them can work so well in a relationship. Marc-André who is talkative and open and is never afraid to shout at his back-line if needed be, and Bernd who’s more on the quiet side and has too much patience towards his own defenders no matter how many silly mistakes they make in a game. Marc-André who understands more than anyone else why his species is dubbed “the creature of the night”, and Bernd who’s practically born with light coursing through his veins. And especially considering all the _complications_ they’ve had in their youths, Marc-André knows no one would’ve guessed that he and Bernd would end up like this.

But as people say, opposites attract, and Marc-André supposes that both of them complements each other in one way or another.

He smiles at that thought and he sees Bernd looking at him questioningly, but he only shakes his head and deepens their kiss. Sometime later, he knows that he’ll be moving normally again, and then they’ll be able to go for a more intimate action. But for now, he’s content with having his boyfriend’s arm around him, their lips on each other’s, knowing that nothing else they both want but to stay this way forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that ends the third chapter, and the next chapter will be the last one.
> 
> A bit of background info: Daniel's power is invisibility, I wanted to write it into this chapter but I couldn't find any space for it.
> 
> Kudos, comments, and constructive criticisms are highly appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, soooo...after what feels like years, I finally managed to finish the final chapter of this story.
> 
> I'm sorry for being so late, but I've returned to work now after two weeks of quarantine and honestly I barely found time to write at all. 
> 
> Also, I have nothing against Petr Čech, really. It's just, sometimes I couldn't help wondering whether Bernd would do better if he's the one between the sticks during the 2019 Europa League final.
> 
> Warrning: English is not my mother tongue.

Okay, so there may have been some setbacks that stem from the simple fact that Marc-André is a vampire. And Bernd probably has had to learn from his mistakes more often that he’d hoped. He also knows that after this, there are still a lot of things that need to be put into consideration if they wish to continue with this relationship, or get into a more serious one.

But Bernd doesn’t mind. His relationship with Marc-André may not be the typical romance stories you can find in any movies or books, but he’s content. And he’s totally willing to take Marc-André’s, ahem, _condition_ into account whenever they wish to do something, like choosing somewhere _not_ overly sunny or hot for their anniversary holiday, or finding restaurants that will take Marc-André’s “allergies” into account really seriously whenever they eat out together.

And Bernd also has perfectly good reason to do such things for Marc-André.

**_+1. He’s the best, most supportive boyfriend Bernd can ever ask for._ **

****

When the fourth goal is buried in the back of Arsenal’s net, Bernd knows they’re screwed. He buries his face inside his hands, not caring that he’s still wearing his gloves. _Another dream lost_ , he thinks bitterly. _The only chance we have at any kind of silverware this season, and we’ve blown it_.

Alright, probably Bernd isn’t going to be blamed for this since it’s Petr Čech in front of the goal and not him. But still they have lost, in the final of _Europa League_ , against _Chelsea_ of all team, and if it doesn’t hurt, he doesn’t know what else could.

The atmosphere inside the dressing room after they have received their silver medals is decidedly dismal. Even Auba and Laca don’t joke around, and Musti only talks when he’s spoken to. Laurent, being a good captain he is, is walking around the dressing room, offering some praises and comfort words to anyone whom he thinks would need it. Mesut is trying to placate a shaken and almost crying Joe Willock, and judging from the way Mesut has his hands clasped tightly on Joe’s bare shoulder, Bernd guesses that Mesut’s using his calmness-inducing power on the young midfielder. The others who have yet to enter the shower room are just talking quietly with each other or busying themselves with their phones.

Swallowing, Bernd drops himself to his seat and runs a hand through his hair. He hates all of this – the gloom all around the room, the lack of laughter, and especially the loss itself. He glances at the other side of the room, where Petr – undoubtedly the scapegoat of the night – is talking to someone quietly on his phone in his native language. The older keeper looks calm enough for someone who just conceded four goals and costed his team a title, but his supposed composure does little to placate Bernd, and before he can help it, the lights inside the dressing room start to blink on and off, probably reacting to his despair. He quickly shakes himself into steadiness and the lights return to normal, but he can feel Mesut and Musti’s eyes on him.

He briefly wonders what could’ve happened if only he started in goal instead of Petr, but quickly dismisses that thought before it goes out of control. Petr is a senior goalkeeper with loads of experience under his belt, has played for Chelsea for many years before and therefore knows a lot about their style of play and so forth, and has been a great teammate plus unofficial mentor for Bernd. Bernd also knows that the older goalkeeper has planned to retire at the end of this season, and Emery probably gave him the starting spot in this game in order for him to end his career with a bang or something, but guess life doesn’t always give you what you want.

Letting out a sigh, Bernd digs into his bag and pulls his phone out. He knows that he’ll also need some comfort after this, and while his other half is currently 3000-something miles away from him, he can at least send a text to inform the other man that he’s going to call later.

A few messages and missed calls greet him as he unlocks his phone. Certainly Marc-André has seen the game and knows how it ends for him. Bernd’s fingers tremble a bit as he scrolls through his boyfriend’s texts, reading each and every one of them.

_babe?_

_i’ve seen the game_

_i know it’s a silly thing to ask but are you okay?_

_why don’t you answer your phone?_

_bernd fucking leno answer me before i kill you in your sleep_

_oh yeah, sorry, i forget, you still need to get your medal_

_look, just call me when you can, okay?_

_love you_

A lump makes its way to Bernd’s throat as he rereads the messages, again and again, but at the same time a small smile threatens to tug at the end of his lips. Goddammit, Marc. Why were Bernd and the Barcelona keeper enemies again in their youth??

He quickly shoots Marc-André a text, saying that he’s going to call once he’s back at the hotel. Without checking whether his boyfriend has read or answered, he shoves the phone back into his bag and makes a beeline for the shower.

The journey back to the hotel in their team bus never feels so long. Bernd doesn’t know whether it’s because they just lost the final of a major tournament, or maybe he just wishes to talk to his boyfriend again, but he finds himself tapping his foot impatiently on the bus floor, making Lucas who sits beside him shooting him some curious looks.

Upon their arrival at the hotel, Bernd hears some of his teammates discussing whether they should get some drinks – to drown their sorrows in, he supposes, but he quickly slips past them to his room before they even realize he’s disappeared. He’s thankful he’s been assigned singles this time, because that means he doesn’t have to find any secluded place to make a call to Marc-André. Fishing his phone from his bag, he quickly punches his boyfriend’s number in – it’s already so well-engraved in his mind that he never has to scroll through his contact list to find it anymore – and puts the phone on his ear.

Marc-André picks up immediately at the first ring – Bernd wonders whether the Barcelona keeper has been waiting all this time for Bernd to call him – and Bernd can hear his voice, soft and full of sympathy as it floats from the speaker, “Hi, babe.”

“Marc,” Bernd whispers, feeling slightly more than helpless. “You…you’re here.”

There’s a low chuckle from the other end of the line. “Well, not _literally_ there, of course,” Marc-André replies, voice still as soft as before. “I wish I could be, though.”

“Better for you if you’re not,” Bernd mutters, chewing at his bottom lip. “We played like shit today.”

“Chelsea’s a tough opponent,” Marc-André says, rather matter-of-factly, “they have a good team, and one of their strikers used to play for Arsenal too, so…”

Bernd lets out a rather forced, disbelieving laugh. “That’s barely helping, Marc. Petr – Petr Čech, I mean – he used to play for Chelsea too, and we _still_ lost. I know it’s been years since his transfer, but…”

He can’t see Marc-André through the phone call, but he can hear the obvious eye-roll as the Barcelona keeper speaks out, “Yeah, speaking about your keeper…no offense, but not putting _you_ in the starting eleven for this game is one of the most stupid-ass decision I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, it’s the coach’s decision though, so it’s not like I can say anything about it,” Bernd mutters, trying to sound nonchalant despite of the slight, yet obvious tremor in his voice. “And please don’t disrespect Petr like that, he’s still a great keeper in his own right and has supported me ever since the first time we played against each other and…”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Marc-André cuts him off, this time accompanied by a snort. “And yes, I _do_ know that Petr Čech is a legendary keeper and all, and don’t get me wrong, I respect him for that, but in my opinion, he’s way past his prime. Besides, if he’s still _that_ good, Arsenal wouldn’t ever think of bringing you in at first place. Again, no offense.”

Bernd opens his mouth to say something but closes it again as a lovely rose colour starts to form on his face and neck and his heart starts beating faster than necessary. Again, he wonders why he and Marc-André ever became enemies at first place during their youth, and why the Fate needs to be so cruel as to intertwine their lives together like this as lovers, teammates, and sometime rivals.

He’s not going to tell Marc-André how happy he is to hear the younger keeper’s opinion though. Instead he only says, “Thanks for having so much belief in me. But I still couldn’t change what had happened. I still didn’t play, and we still lost the game.”

There’s a sigh from the other end of the line, and then Marc-André slowly responds, “I know, Bernd. And I’m sorry for you and your team, really. Losing always sucks, especially of it’s the final of an important tournament. But if this can be a bit of a silver lining…I think there’s one good thing that comes from you not playing, though.”

“Like what??” Bernd asks, raising his eyebrows.

“At least you won’t have this game on your conscience,” Marc-André says, and Bernd’s surprised to hear a slight resentment in the younger keeper’s voice. “Every time anyone recalls this match, it’s not _you_ who are going to be blamed for Arsenal’s loss. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had ‘Corner taken quickly… ORIGIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII’ haunting my sleep at night??”

Bernd’s lips twitch into an almost-smile, but he quickly wipes it off his face. He knows how much _that_ particular match must’ve been a thorn on the sides for his boyfriend, if not for his whole club, and the embarrassment of losing that game would’ve followed them for years afterwards. Marc-André had called Bernd after that match as well, sounding about ready to break down at any time, and Bernd had wished he’d been born with the power of teleportation instead so that he could go to see his boyfriend at once to calm him down.

Oh well, Bernd thinks, their next meeting will be loaded with grief sex for sure.

“I’m sorry that it had to happen to you as well,” Bernd murmurs. “Guess this year’s not really _our_ year. Well, when it comes to European competitions, at least,” he quickly adds, remembering (slightly bitterly, though he, _again_ , won’t ever admit that to Marc-André) that his counterpart’s still winning La Liga.

If Marc-André detects something weird in Bernd’s tone, he doesn’t show it, though Bernd can hear another sigh escaping his boyfriend’s lips. “Don’t take it too hard on yourself, Bernd,” the Barcelona keeper advises, voice even softer than ever. “Remember that this season’s been hard for your club, not only you. You guys were going through a transitional period, with the change of coach and all, and as for you yourself, it’s only your first season there. And I personally think that with all the setbacks you’ve experienced there, you’ve done your best, you’ve successfully cemented your place in the first-team squad, and your performance’s been great. And please remember that you’ve done everything without a _proper_ defence in front of you.”

Bernd swallows and closes his eyes as another lump starts to form inside his throat again upon hearing Marc-André’s words. He knows that the Barcelona keeper, despite of his profession as a footballer, isn’t that fond of watching a football game himself except for some particularly interesting ones. But then again, Bernd is in the habit of watching each and every one of the younger’s matches. Back then he did it because they were rivals and he needed to keep track on Marc-André’s stats and hopefully surpass it (also because, sometimes, seeing his rival made ridiculous mistakes would satisfy him to no end), but nowadays it’s more because he misses his boyfriend a lot, and seeing Marc-André on television, looking healthy and playing well kinda helps a bit. He supposes that his boyfriend must’ve thought the same.

A few years ago, Bernd would never think that Marc-André could be the comforting type, yet there he is right now, talking with Bernd on the phone, spitting out his opinions in a nonchalant way, no flowery tone nor hidden intention, just what he believes is the truth, but somehow it makes the words he said far more meaningful.

And _fuck_ , Bernd’s not going to cry because of this. Not now, not ever. But two big drops of water threatening to fall from the corners of his eyes say otherwise.

“Bernd?? Are you okay??” Marc-André asks, certainly worried as there’s been nothing but silence for a few minutes from Bernd’s end.

“I’m fine,” Bernd mumbles, quickly blinks the tears away from his eyes. His voice’s still shaky, but for a completely different reason this time. “I…well, you’re still staying at Barcelona for the time being, no??”

“Well, yes, we still have a few things to do before summer break, but why…?”

“I’ll come to your apartment, alright?” Bernd says in a rush, holding his phone so tight he’s starting to get scared it would break, yet he can’t stop doing so. “And I’ll cook for you, probably some Spanish tortilla or those cured meat you love so much, and I swear there won’t be any garlic or juniper in it…”

A low chuckle floats from the other end of the line, and then Marc-André says half-teasingly, “You do know that if you’re here, I don’t really need all your cooking, don’t you? Because _you_ are going to be the best meal there is.”

Bernd rolls his eyes but nevertheless manages a small smile despite of himself. “I know,” he answers. “I still wish to do something for you though…and it should be more than simply giving you my blood.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll let you cook…just don’t burn my apartment down, okay??”

“Are you underestimating my cooking ability??”

“Well, you’re no Gordon Ramsay, that’s for sure.”

“If I were there, I would’ve given you a lovely punch on the nose, Marc-André ter Stegen.”

“Come here quickly then, so that you can perform that punch you’re so desired to give me – and then probably one or two rounds of sex afterwards.”

“…You’re one horny asshole, you know that??”

“Guilty as charged.”

They keep talking on the phone for a few hours afterwards but avoiding the topic about football altogether, switching to video-call at some point, and Marc-André muses about how Bernd’s hair is getting longer but advises the Arsenal keeper not to cut it for now, while Bernd teases Marc-André about how the younger still stays so fair even after five years under Barcelona sun. That, of course, is followed by Marc-André’s usual complaints and grumbles about the sun, and Bernd simply listens to him amusedly without interrupting.

After both of them run out of topic, they fall silent for a few seconds.

“Bernd,” Marc-André whispers, voice low as if he’s afraid to hear Bernd’s answer. “Are you okay now?”

“Not the best day in my life, if I’m being totally honest,” Bernd replies. “But it’s much better now, thanks to you.”

Probably it’s not the most eloquent way to express gratitude, but Bernd knows Marc-André knows he means it, and they don’t need any fancy words anyway to understand how much they mean to one another, and how they will always support each other no matter what.

“I’m glad I can help,” Marc-André says with a smile. “After all, that’s what boyfriends are for, no??”

Bernd rolls his eyes again at Marc-André’s words. “Talk about clichés,” he mutters, though there’s fondness in his voice, “but can’t agree more with that. And babe??”

“Yes?”

“I love you too.”

“I haven’t said it.”

“You have. Through the text. And I don’t think I have answered that.”

“…You’re a mess, you know that??”

“You won’t have me any other way.”

Marc-André tilts his head to the side as if thinking hard about Bernd’s statement. “Yeah,” he admits eventually. “I guess I won’t.”

They exchange smiles, and again Bernd wonders how much they have gone from their initial heated rivalry to this point. Back then he and Marc-André only had jeers, sneers, cold glares and thinly-veiled insults towards each other. For them to progress like this, and even become _boyfriends_ is something that Bernd is still unable to wrap his mind around, sometimes. But he knows he’s never been happier than those times he spends on Marc-André’s side.

They say their respective goodbyes and disconnect the call not long afterwards, but as Bernd climbs onto his bed, he doesn’t fall asleep right away. He just sits there for a few minutes, recalling everything that has happened today. He’s still frustrated about the loss, that’s for sure, but talking to Marc-André has helped him to get over it a bit. And he still means to visit the Barcelona keeper real soon in order to show his _true_ gratitude towards the younger.

And Bernd realizes that the phone call, though does take the edge out of his longing a bit, has left him wanting to meet his boyfriend even more after this.

Smiling to himself, Bernd simply pulls the blankets over him and quickly slips into a deep, dreamless slumber. He knows exactly that he’ll be able to do that real soon, and that Marc-André will be there to wait for him, no matter what.

**_fin._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of background stories from real life that I've incorporated in this chapter:
> 
>   * Arsenal lost 4-1 against Chelsea in the final of Europa League. Apparently a lot of people slammed Unai Emery after the game, stating that he should've played Bernd in goal instead.
>   * Marc indeed isn't a big fan of football, as he himself has mentioned in [this interview](https://www.dailymail.co.uk/sport/football/article-8165199/Barcelona-goalkeeper-Marc-Andre-Ter-Stegen-admits-no-idea-football.html).
>   * According to Bernd, Petr Čech said that he's "[pleased for him and excited for him](https://onefootball.com/en/news/bernd-leno-says-its-crazy-to-be-lining-up-alongside-petr-cech-20806802)" after they played against each other during Bernd's Champions League debut against Chelsea in 2011.
>   * The match they're talking about is Barcelona's 4-0 loss against Liverpool in the semi-final of Champions League, which I imagine isn't one of the matches Marc would want to remember in his lifetime.
>   * I should stop making jokes about Arsenal's terrible defence, really. Haha.
> 

> 
> So that concludes this story, hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> Kudos, comments and constructive criticisms are appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Check my [tumblr](https://colorsofmyseason.tumblr.com/tagged/fanfiction) for more fic dumps/entries about my supernatural AU!


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